obverse and reverse
by Thalius
Summary: Lasky offers John a gift. It definitely isn't weird. Post-Halo 4.


It was a surprise to Lasky when Roland informed him that Chief was in the _Infinity's _Officer Lounge. He'd given the man clearance to use the space if he wanted, sympathetic to John's unease about all the fanfare he received on S-Deck, but he'd politely dodged the offer with simple, resolute "I'm not commissioned."

He made his way there from the bridge, suppressing a cough. "He's there alone?" he asked Roland as he passed down the hallway, nodding to any crewmen that walked by.

"Aye, sir."

"Blue Team isn't with him?"

"I believe he's looking for some solitude."

Lasky's confident gait faltered to a much slower pace. Maybe he shouldn't be bothering the man. He'd only been back for a week, if that. And if he wasn't in the mood for Blue Team's company, he would hardly want it from Lasky.

"You could keep the conversation short," Roland suggested, seeing his hesitation.

"Most conversations with the Chief are."

"You've gotten more words out of him than I have."

He wanted to reply that that was only the case because of John's respect for his title and not any genuine camaraderie, but that sounded a touch too querulous even to him, so he kept silent and continued walking. A short conversation, he mentally promised, either to himself or John he wasn't sure.

When he arrived at the lounge he palmed the door open and stepped inside as quietly as he could. He'd interacted with enough Spartans to know Chief could hear him breathing from across the deck, but John's heavy gravitas filled any room he occupied, this one included. Making any sudden movements or loud noises was as egregious as yelling inside a church.

He saw John seated in one of the leather chairs near the portside wall, leaning forward with head bowed and hands clasped between his knees. At first he thought he was meditating, maybe even praying, but then he saw he was holding something and turning it over in his fingers. If he'd noticed Lasky's arrival, he made no indication of it.

Lasky cleared his throat—quietly—and John looked up. The movement was unhurried, controlled, and his eyes were startlingly blue. "Chief," he greeted, then shook his head when John made to stand, his mouth twitching. "At ease, it's alright. May I?" he gestured to one of the chairs, and John only nodded.

Pushing down the flare of anxiety telling him quite clearly that he was disturbing the man's much-needed down time, he made his way over and sat down in one of the chairs facing John. He allowed himself to take in the rest of the man; he was wearing off-duty sweats, and the stitches along his cheek and jaw were healing nicely. It was still bizarre to see him in anything other than head-to-toe Mjolnir. Lasky had tried not to make too many assumptions about what John could possibly look like, but seeing the freckles dot across his nose, the faint auburn tinge to his close-cropped hair, the long lines of worry creasing at the corners of his eyes, nose and mouth, and teeth that looked like they'd been corrected by braces was all still a surprise.

He realised he'd been staring and straightened in his chair. "How are you feeling? How's recovery going?"

"It's going well, sir," John replied, his deep voice for once not modulated by a helmet microphone. "Medical cleared me for light duties for the time being."

He sensed a hint of irritation in John's voice, but he couldn't be certain if that irritation was aimed at the nurses or at the Captain disrupting his quiet time. "Glad to hear it. You were pretty banged up."

John's response once again was a simple nod. Lasky waited a beat and then extended his left leg in front of him to dig around in his front pocket. He produced a small white tube from it a moment later and held it out in offering. The shiny piece of metal John had been holding disappeared in a massive palm as he extended the other out to grab the tube. His eyes flicked up at Lasky, a silent question lingering in them.

"That's for freezer burns," he explained as John examined the tiny text on the back of the tube. "Better than the stuff they give you down in medical. I know the burns can last a while, and that'll help keep inflammation down."

"Thank you, sir." He sounded a touch surprised, but maybe Lasky was imagining it. "I've never heard of this brand before."

"That's not a surprise. It's usually used to treat a cytoprethaline allergy," he replied, resisting the urge to pull back his cuff and itch at his wrists. "Most people in the UNSC aren't afflicted."

"I wasn't aware you were, sir." John looked up at him. "I thought you smelled of blood."

Lasky blinked. There wasn't an appropriate response to a statement like that, right? Jesus. He should ask Sarah if that was a regular thing. He thought he hid it better. After this conversation he'd have to go down to medical to get his bandages changed. "Um, yes. I saw the extent of the burns you'd sustained over in disassembly and thought you'd need something stronger."

It had been a weird experience. He'd thought about John for most of his life, followed the scuttlebutt and stories crewmen passed around about the Spartans before the UNSC had made the program public, but he'd only ever been a mythic, armoured figure in his mind. The first time he'd finally seen John _out_ of armour, nearly thirty years after meeting him, he'd been stark naked in the Spartan Deck, surrounded by techs and nurses all heads and shoulders smaller than him, directing him to the showers and then to the medical bay. Weird.

But it _wasn't_ weird that he mentioned that he'd seen him. That he'd looked long enough to see angry, red burns brush across the pale skin of his broad shoulders and back. That definitely wasn't weird.

"I was admonished by several nurses about it," John said, pulling him out of his thoughts. He swore he saw the man's mouth tug up into a slight smile. He gestured with the tube and then slid it carefully into the pocket of his sweatpants. "I'll use this tonight. Thank you again, sir."

Lasky stopped himself from correcting him about the sir thing. "No problem, Chief. Anything else you need, you let me know."

"Of course," John replied, and Lasky knew full well he'd do no such thing. "If it's all the same to you, sir, I'd like to excuse myself."

"If it's solitude you're after, I was just leaving." Lasky stood up from the chair and looked down at John. _Down. _Another oddity. He hesitated, then offered his hand to him. "Glad to have you back with us."

John looked at his hand, surprised at the gesture, and then clasped it in his own. His skin was cool and dry, and wow his hands were large. Lasky made sure to keep his eyes on John's face.

"Glad to be back, sir."

Lasky didn't really believe him, but it wasn't his place to say. He knew the man had a lot to work through—knew more than most people, he reckoned—and John needed space to do that.

"Use the lounge for as long and as often as you like, Chief. It's a good place to unwind."

John gave a final nod before looking back down at his hands. Lasky tried to catch a glimpse of what he'd been holding as he left, and decided as he exited the lounge that the small piece of metal looked like an old quarter.


End file.
